Author's Note: Just trying something new. Please review and let me know that you are reading it.
1:
John Cena did not know who he was, anymore.
He walked along the streets of Boston. It was late, or it was very early. He couldn't quite tell. He had been drinking so much, his eyes were blurry. His mouth tasted like salt. His stomach churned and his legs felt like jelly.
Vague faces appeared to pass him as he walked. Some of them may have recognized him. John didn't recognize them. One face stayed in his line of vision a little too long. John waved his hand over his own face and slurred, "Yew cunt see me."
The face melted away.
Night was dark and moonless. The city seemed less active. John's mind bled with memories of the good times he shared with Nikki. Happy times that should have never been. Times that he didn't think he deserved.
"She still loves me," he told himself, perhaps to ease some of the pain.
His eyes rolled up into his head. John stopped and slumped against a nearby wall. He could hear water running somewhere nearby. He wasn't sure how much longer he could walk before all that he consumed at the bar came back up.
"She still loves me," he repeated, as if it would make a difference.
John stood up straight. He felt a moment of regret. He had come here to visit his parents and spend some time with his family before he went back to his wrestling and filming schedule. He would be busy for at least the next seven months. His family shouldn't have to see him like this.
"My family...my family," John said aloud.
He started walking, again. He was bound to walk back to his parent's house, or at least that's what he was telling himself. He managed to wander up to an old bridge that came over a small river. He should've known the name of the river. He was drunk enough to decide that he could re-name it Nikki.
"Niiiiiikkkkiiiiiii!" he shouted beyond the bridge.
The water rushed and waved underneath him, sounding displeased with the choice of a name. It was not Nikki. It was older than Nikki. It would be here long after Nikki.
This revelation seemed to upset John in an unexpected way. He climbed up on the stone bridge and threatened to jump into the water and thrash it around for daring to go on after Nikki was gone. It seemed disrespectful. Heartbreaking, even. John could not let that stand.
"How dare you! How dare-" John leaned over and puked into the river.
He felt like he was floating over the water. A momentary voice in the back of his head told him he was in danger. He ignored it and continued to lean over the edge, staring at the water and its brown, ugly depths.
A memory came into his mind of Nikki laughing in their kitchen. The memory made John feel sad, and then angry.
"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" he screamed at the river.
A ringing jarred his thoughts. It seemed like forever before John realized it was the cell phone in his pocket that was making all the damned noise. He took his phone out and stared at the screen. The call had gone to voicemail.
John saw the name on the screen, but it didn't register to him until he hit the call back and a familiar voice answered, "John?"
"What the fuck, Randy? Why're you calling so late?" John thought he sounded like this.
"What? What are you saying?" Randy confirmed the words were not so clear.
John yelled into the phone, "Why're you calling so late?!"
"I should ask you the same thing!" Randy sounded angry.
John was confused. This conversation was not going anywhere. John searched for a way to end the call, but he was only pressing the screen until Randy asked, "Are you drunk?"
"Off my ass!" John believed it to be a cut-down to prove Randy right.
"Where are you?" Randy asked.
John took a moment to gather himself. He glanced around. The bridge was dark and empty. There were no obvious signs around, or perhaps he simply couldn't read them in his drowned out state.
"Fuck if I know," John shrugged, not realizing Randy couldn't see his body.
"I called you because I'm in the area. I came up to see you. Let me know where you are and I'll-"
John dropped the phone before Randy could finish. His phone clattered on the ground and cracked the screen. John bent down to retrieve the phone, cursing as he went. He hadn't realized he was still up on the edge of the bridge until he had hit the ground with both knees.
He cried out in pain. It echoed through the night air. John took his phone and beat it against the ground a few more times, blaming the tiny electronic for his mistake. The light from the phone went out, and John tossed it over his head and into the river.
John sat there for what felt like a long time. He rose back up to his feet and looked out at his surroundings. He should've given Randy a clue as to where he was. At this rate, no one would ever find him.
"Bitch," John cursed the river that he had named Nikki.
He started walking back the way he came. He would find a familiar place soon, enough.
John walked.
And walked.
And walked.
There was nothing familiar about this place.
Yet, it felt like home.
"John, are you coming?" someone asked from ahead of him.
He looked up and saw Adam Copeland standing there. This was a different Edge, a version from the distant past. He was younger, his hair was longer, and his outfit was vintage.
"Think fast!" Christian ran past John in a hurry.
He recognized Christian because of the weird way he ran. John was dumbfounded as he watched the two take off down the hallway and disappear out of sight. John twisted around to check out the hallway itself. It was painted cinder block, the layout of most arenas, with steel gray doors lining either end.
Edge and Christian had gone through a black area at the end of the hall. John dared to follow them. When he reached the end, he recognized the curtains that led to the arena.
The curtains were velvet and out of style. John felt a cool breeze against his chest and he looked down to see that he was also in his ring gear, but his sneakers were the classic ones he used to pump up in the ring.
John couldn't believe his eyes. He told himself he must be dreaming. There was no way he was here, in this place, at this point in time.
"Yeah, sure," a familiar voice caught his attention.
John turned around and saw Randy Orton talking to someone with a ridiculously large headset on. Randy was dressed out in his ring trunks, but there was a distinct difference in his overall look. He was much younger, his tattoos looked more fresh, and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet.
This was the Randy that John didn't get along with.
He was the pre-father Randy. The cocky drug addict who didn't know his own talent. John couldn't remember how many times he butted heads with this Randy, or how many times this Randy had tried to get him fired.
That's when it hit John like a ton of bricks: He remembered this day. This was the day Randy Orton nearly killed him.